


I Thought You Were Mine

by Emooly



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Broadway, F/M, Historical, Musicals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 02:43:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8353807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emooly/pseuds/Emooly
Summary: A oneshot I wrote about Eliza x Hamilton. I wanted to dissect her reaction to Hamilton's affair with Maria Reynolds along with the songs "Burn" and "It's Quiet Uptown". I didn't really want this to have an official ending, it seemed better to leave it open-ended. Enjoy, loves!





	

November 14, 1797 - Publication of "The History of the United States for 1796"

Eliza always knew she would never be enough for him. From the moment they sealed their vows and officiated their marriage, she knew. She denied it, obviously. For too many years. She was his wife. It's ridiculous how she must be second best to what he wants in life: fame, glory, achievements, contributions, significance… a legacy. Because he should put her first, no matter what the situation at hand was. There was always another war to fight, cabinet meeting to attend, essay to write, or distraction to keep from him loving her, as he was supposed to. And it wasn't fair. It just wasn't. She clenched her fists, seated on the wooden patio that overlooked the forest lake of her father's home. The water was so pretty tonight, as the moon reflected serenely over its tranquil surface.

Angelica was as always, making lively conversation over the dinner table. She could hear her from the other side of the cabin. Every word she roared was accompanied with gesticulations and wild expressions, and then followed by laughter from essentially everyone around her. Eliza wished she had that quality. She was a much more reserved and soft-spoken version of her sister. Never spoke out of turn, obeyed her father's word, didn't stir the pot. Angelica, on the other side of the spectrum was like a human hurricane. She had this natural charisma that dazzled men, women, and children alike, able to talk and dissect basically any topic with any person. She brimmed with powerful ideas and beliefs surrounding women's suffrage and the abolition of slavery put even Hamilton on his toes. Hamilton. Her husband. He isn't here right now because of some silly excuse she couldn't even bother to remember. Something about working, writing, participating. As he always does.

She heaved another crestfallen sigh and rested her chin on her hand. Despite the fact that Eliza was absolutely livid that Hamilton couldn't even spend one summer to take a break and have some time with her and the children, she missed him so dearly. She loved his hearty laugh, his inspirational work ethic, his endearing smile, and the fire within him that burned so brightly.

Eliza remembered when she first met him: she was younger back then, maybe a little prettier, and very naive. She ate up every single word he said, hungry for more. Words. That was his favorite thing. Writing, talking, convincing, joking. He was good at it all… it was a natural talent of his, really. Communicating with others never came easily to the middle Schuyler sister. She always held herself back, second-guessed the worth of her input in a conversation or an argument and never stepped up to the plate in regards to expressing her opinions or her thoughts. But she was so infatuated by his confidence. He made her feel secure and comfortable despite the start of the revolution and the turmoil. His ability to just put a smile on her face whenever she felt under the weather never failed to astonish her. And she missed it all. Unlike most marriages, their love never lost its luster. And of course Eliza knew he loved her - that wasn't even a question. What drove her over the edge is his neglect to prioritize her.

Her train of thought was interrupted by Angelica shouting her name from the dining room.

"Eliza!" she yelled. "Can you come to the dining room? There's something you should see."

There was a tone in her voice that signified something was very wrong. Angelica usually sounded very cheery, very lighthearted. Sure, she had a feisty temper and would stand up for what she believed in no matter what, but she usually assumed a more optimistic and positive persona rather than a solemn one. Eliza hurriedly ran to meet Angelica and her father at the table.

"Eliza, I-I'm so sorry.." Angelica stammered. Her saddened sister was holding a newspaper clipping in one hand, another resting limply on her lap.

"What happened?" Eliza asked. She was still in a state of confusion at the moment, unable to feel the tension in the air. Everything was so peaceful just moments ago… what was going on?

"You need to read this," Angelica handed the papers to Eliza.

Eliza's eyes glazed over the words. Shock. Horror. Disbelief. What?

BREAKING: A Scandal You Won't Believe: Alexander Hamilton has affair with Maria Reynolds. Financial "Agreement" with Mr. James Reynolds.

What?

Eliza nearly collapsed. Her father had to hold her steady so she wouldn't fall on the floor.

This couldn't be. Was this real? Her Alexander? Her lifelong partner, her children's father?! Her husband was unfaithful this entire time? How long was this going on for? Why would he do this? Maybe this is a mistake? Maybe the press thought it was him when it was actually a different person with the same name?

So many why's, what's, when's, how's… they were overwhelming. Eliza felt lightheaded, placing her palm over her forehead.

"I feel unwell," she whispered raspily. "I need water."

"Of course," Angelica nodded, her eyes laced with worry as she turned her back and hurriedly headed into the kitchen.

Eliza sighed, feeling her entire body shaking with rage, confusion… and complete and utter loss. A wave of grief washed over her as she buried her face into her hands, sobbing profusely.

She felt her father place his hand behind her back. "I never trusted that whole Hamilton character," he muttered under his breath. "Not a penny to his name, an immigrant. Too ambitious. Too dangerous. But he still managed to make you happy… it's absolutely unbelievable."

Angelica walked in with a ceramic cup filled with water. Her steps were quickened, yet firm.

"Here," she said gently, handing Eliza the drinking glass.

Eliza made no reply, as she took a ginger sip and set the cup down on a nearby table.

"What am I going to do?" she cried weakly. "What am I going to tell the children?"

"The next few days are going to be very hard, my sweet," her father comforted. "You will have to make lots of different decisions about your family and your marriage and your life."

"We will be here for you every step of the way," Angelica agreed. "But not before I give that Hamilton a piece of my-"

"No, please," Eliza stuttered, shaking her head. "Please don't speak with him."

"Why not?!" Angelica cried. "You said so yourself. We talked about this before! He never has time for you. If he's so busy with all of these 'meetings' and 'paperwork' he should not be abandoning his vows for another woman! Who is this Maria Reynolds anyways?!"

"Just stop!" Eliza shouted, standing up on her feet, her hands balling into fists, shaking at her sides. Her lip was quivering as more tears began to slide down her face. "That's enough, I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"But Eliza-" Angelica began.

"NO!" she cut her sister off. "No more."

Angelica's lips thinned into a line as Eliza bolted into the guest room where was staying. She flew through her belongings. The letters. Where were they? She needed to see them. She needed to read them. She needed to confirm that they were real, that they weren't just figments of her imagination or dreams she just made up out of thin air. Alexander was always good with his words. He would write her almost everyday, updating her about life in the trenches, his friends, his thoughts, and asking her about hers. His words were absolutely enchanting - he would weave tapestries, excavate tombs, build palaces, construct cathedrals. Every metaphor was balanced with a technical description, every color was described exactly as it looked. These letters made her fall for him. She needed to read through them. Just one more time.

She threw the clothes out of her suitcase. She knew she brought them with her. She collected all of the letters he wrote her and put them in a wooden box she would keep with her, especially when she was separated from him. It was what kept her sane when he wasn't beside her, reading through them over and over again and pretending he was with her. They were apart more than they were together, and that drove Eliza absolutely insane. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't. Her dresses, corsets, stockings, gloves landed on the floor or on the bed. She didn't care. She didn't see. She just needed to find them. When she emptied her suitcase, she went through the drawers. Large amounts of paperwork she planned on working with while she was upstate. Parcels that were left unopened, some envelopes and mail. A box of stamps. And there it was, mahogany container she stored the letters in, tucked safely in the corner of the drawer. Like a whirlwind, she removed it, slamming it down on the table and rummaging through them one by one, trying to sort them by chronological order.

April 1775. The start of the revolution. She put that one aside and continuing her scanning of the letters.

July 1776. The Declaration of Independence.

October 1780. An update about trench warfare, he wrote a joke or two in there about how unbearable eating hardtack for months on end was. How he missed her. How he wanted to be with her. He promised he would marry her. They did, after that. In the Schuyler Mansion. Her heart ached at the thought.

He had to leave again shortly after. Washington and Lafayette needed his services in the final few skirmishes… the Battle of Yorktown signified the end.

January 1781. The day after he left. He wrote about thinking about her constantly, not being able to shake the thought of her.

March 1782. Working. Being Secretary of Treasury was no easy task. He wrote about his ideas about establishing a national bank and a new line of credit. She was fascinated.

September 1783. The end of the revolution.

She loved him so so much. He was very funny; his broad humor was something even an introverted lady like Eliza could appreciate. He was smart. Law degree from King's College. But he was so much more insightful, even in spite of that. He would talk to her about everything - politics, philosophy, human morals, science. Every word that came out of his mouth, every memory he recollected, every expression that he made, Eliza hung onto so tightly and so dearly. She thought he was the love of his life. She couldn't have been more wrong. Her hands began shaking again as she found more letters in between and tucked them into the correct location. She re-opened everyone, unfolded the parched paper and read them, then re-read them, then read them one more time just for good measure. She had to take lots of breaks for breathing room. Eliza still couldn't believe the man she thought was going to spend the rest of her life with has broken their eternal promise. It's like he doesn't even care. It's like he never did in the first place, as a matter of fact.

Wiping more tears from her eyes with a handkerchief, she collected all of the letters into a pile and headed into the kitchen. Without a word to Angelica and her father, who were both more than likely whispering in hushed tones about affair in the living room, she rushed past them and opened the nearest cupboard, rummaging for something.

Angelica noticed Eliza's disoriented figure.

"Eliza, what are you doing?" she inquired worriedly.

"I need char cloth," Eliza replied sharply. "Father, do you have it? Where can I find char cloth?!"

"My sweet, what is going on?" his voice was also brimming with concern. "What do you need char cloth for?"

"I-I'm… burning, I need to burn them," she stammered her eyes darting from corner to corner, as if she was about to commit a heinous crime.

"Burn what, Eliza, burn what?" Angelica asked, standing up for her seat and walking slowly toward her.

"The.. the papers.. The letters," Eliza muttered, still rummaging around the various drawers around her for the matchbox. She was making wild gestures with her hands.

"But what for?" her father inquired in disbelief.

"I can't stand to be in the same room as them, I have to get rid of them," Eliza responded curtly. "I don't want the press jumping on me for anything, I don't want anyone to know. I don't want anyone to see the letters, to read the words that could possibly redeem what he did."

"Eliza, you can't just burn them!" Angelica protested, placing a hand gently on her sister's forearm. "There is a better way to deal with this."

"No, Angelica, I have to!" Eliza bellowed, moving her arm out of Angelica's reach and taking a deep breath, closing her eyes. She was losing her patience. "Just tell me where I can get the char cloth."

"It's in the storage closet beside the fire pit," her father answered, rubbing his forehead with his forefingers.

"But father!" Angelica shouted. "You can't just let her do this, you have no idea how much those letters meant to her! She would bring them with her everywhere, she would read them over and over again, they are her most prized possession! Please you have to understand!"

Eliza was already out the door, more tears streaming down her cheeks. She ran several meters to stand before the fire pit, and saw the minuscule storage closet next to it. Whipping the doors open, she scanned the shelves, her eyes finally landing on a jar of char cloth. Pulling out several squares, she didn't even bother screwing the lid back on or returning it to its original location. She tossed the letters into the fire pit, throwing the char cloth on top. She then bent to the ground, searching for some decently sized rocks. She knew she was acting like a crazy woman, flying off the handle like this and ignoring her father and Angelica's wishes. But this was something she knew she had to do, otherwise it would make her go mad. It just had to be done.

She scraped the rocks together, trying to ignite a spark. Frustrated, she kept striking the rocks on top of each other, her actions clumsy and uncoordinated, understandably. Again and again and again. It was so frustrating, it was so maddening. This was exactly how it felt - waiting for the next letter, waiting for him to come home, waiting for him to be a father to her kids, waiting for him to be there for her as her husband. She was so sick of waiting. And now she doesn't have to.

At last, a spark ignited from the rocks and sent the char cloth and the papers alight. It was oddly satisfying the first moment, and then heartbreaking the next. Eliza couldn't stop crying. The tears just kept coming and coming and they just wouldn't stop, no matter how many times she tried, no matter how much she reminded herself over and over again that she can't change the past. It was as if water flooded through and shattered a dam, pouring through and covering every crevice, drowning every village, touching every mountain. It just. Wasn't. Fair.

Three Days Later, November 17, 1797 -

Eliza finally arrived back in New York City, insisting she leave her father's vacation home early for her children. And only them. The neighborhood felt quieter as her coachman assisted her with lifting her luggage out of trunk of the horse-drawn carriage. Her house was still her house, but no longer a home. The wind felt heavier on her, as if every blast was another weight on her shoulder. She politely thanked the coachman, and heaved her suitcase to the doorstep. She didn't even bother to knock, simply turning the handle and entering the living room. And there he was.

Hamilton looked more tired than usual. He looked up at her entrance, suddenly standing up when he realized it was her. There were bags under his eyes, and his hair was tousled and a little bit greasy. His posture signified this as well - his hunched shoulders and bent neck. Everything about him spelt out exhaustion. Eliza didn't care.

"How could you?!" she shrieked, tears immediately beginning to form once again. She hated it when this happened. For the past few days, it felt as if she cried enough for a lifetime. Once she started, she just couldn't stop.

"Eliza, I can explain-" he began. She didn't let him.

"You abandoned me!" she cut him off. "You humiliated me in public! You put our children at risk! You broke your promise to me and this family. It's like you don't even care. In fact, it's like you never did."

"I was stupid, I was foolish," Hamilton continued, in complete agreement and understanding of Eliza's anger. He tried to take her hands, but she swatted him away. "I didn't know what I was thinking, I made a mistake."

"Yes, like the sky is blue!" Eliza responded. "I don't even know what to say to you! I don't even know where I am going to live now."

"Stay here!" Hamilton tried. "You can stay in our room, I'll move somewhere else.

Whatever you want."

"NO!" Eliza cried, pushing him out of her way. She jabbed a finger in his face. "You

don't get me to leave me again. Not this time. You don't get to just flee a situation you don't feel comfortable dealing with so you can 'work' or 'write'. That excuse doesn't work on me anymore." Her tone was dangerous.

"Where do you want me to go?" Hamilton asked. "I'll go anywhere, whatever makes you and the kids feel most comfortable. I just want what's best for you."

"That's what you always say!" Eliza shrieked. "You always use your words to wiggle out of things! Every single time! I can't believe I fell for you. For your flowery letters. And now after all these years I finally realize it was just a lie. Just a gimmick, just a comic! I was so young and so gullible about the world, I'm so stupid I'm so so stupid!"

"She means nothing to me, I haven't spoken to her in six years!" Hamilton explained. "I don't want anything to do with her, I don't care about anything anymore! I just want to be with you and be a father to our children."

"NOTHING YOU SAY WILL FIX THIS!" Eliza screamed, turning around suddenly to face him. Her lip quivered, and she suddenly began to bawl, dropping to her knees on the floor, weeping uncontrollably, wiping away tear after tear to no avail. Hamilton attempted to reach out to her.

"Don't touch me."

Sniffles and sobs gripped the air.

"I will move my belongings then," Hamilton said.

"No," Eliza shook her head, finally being able to speak, her voice shaky. "I will."

"Do you want me to move out, then?" Hamilton inquired.

"No."

"What would you like me to do?"

"I will move your things. I want to go through your office."

"Okay."

Hamilton at on the floor with Eliza for a few minutes, keeping a good distance away from her to give her space. After a few more quiet moments, she stood up, ambled slowly up the staircase, and entered their bedroom. She opened all of the drawers in Alexander's nightstand, stacking his books and papers into messy piles. She then walked into his office, placing his belongings on the desk. She then began flinging open drawers, turning through books, unlocking boxes, checking between shelves and bookcases. The office was a mess when she was through. But she didn't care.

That night, she couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned and couldn't believe the direction her life was headed in. There were so many questions and so few answers.

What was going to happen to her marriage?

How was she going to support the children?

How is she going to interact with him from now on?

What is she going to tell Angelica and her father?

How is she going to deal with the public eye?

She stayed awake for the entire night. She couldn't trust anyone anymore. A part of her has been shattered, destroyed, and will never return. With heavy eyelids and an even heavier heart, she descended into a restless sleep.

Several Years Later, January 31, 1804 -

Eliza was tired. In fact, she was exhausted. From all the fighting, the ignoring, the turned backs, the crying. The crying for the most part. She and Alexander took a walk in Manhattan a few nights ago. The city lights and stars were very beautiful.

He asked her for forgiveness.

She said yes.

He wrapped his arms around her that night. For the first time, they slept in the same bed.

She let him.


End file.
